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When  trade  is  dull,  collections  bad 
And  "  blue  "  you  feel  and  look, 
Don't  take  "a  smile"  sit  down  awhile, 
And  con  this  little  book. 


COMPILED  BY 


N..R.  STREETER 


PUBLISHED   BY   THE   COMPILER. 
1889. 


COPYRIGHTED,  1889, 

BY  N.  R.  STREETER. 

Groton,  N.  Y. 


Copies  of  this  little  book  will  be  sent  to  any  address  by  mail, 
postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  price  (rifty  Cents). 

Address,  N.  R.  STREETER,  GROTON,  N.  Y. 


WHY  THIS  LITTLE   BOOK  WAS  PUB 
LISHED. 


HAVING  travelled  through  all  the  States  and 
Territories  of  the  Union;  crossed  the  continent  by 
the  four  different  routes,  and  tried  the  pleasures 
of  the  coast  steamers  on  both  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  oceans,  I  have  formed  many  pleasant  ac 
quaintances  with  "  Knights  of  the  Grip "  in  dif 
ferent  parts  of  the  country. 

And  having  something  of  a  reputation  as  a  nat 
ural  reader  and  impersonator,  I  have  often  been 
called  upon,  in  Pullman  cars,  hotel  parlors  and 
other  places,  to  furnish  something  in  the  way  of 
entertainment  for  the  "  boys/'  In  many  cases  I 
have  been  asked  for  copies  of  selections  which  I 
have  given,  and  sometimes  have  written  copies  in 
answer  to  such  requests. 

Through  the  suggestions  and  the  assistance  of 
friends,  especially  my  old  travelling  "  pard,"  E.  S. 


4          AVHY  THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  WAS  PUBLISHED. 

Hooper,  and  the  editors  of  the  American  Commer 
cial  Traveler,  of  Chicago,  "  a  bright  newsy  little 
paper,  published  in  the  interests  of  Commercial 
men  and  which  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every 
man  who  carries  the  grip/'  I  have  compiled  the  fol 
lowing  GEMS,  which  I  respectfully  dedicate  to 
that  great  army  of  men  known  as  "  Drummers/' 
of  which  I  am  proud  to  be  considered  a  member. 

N.  R.  STREETER. 
GROTON,  Oct.  7,  1889. 


CONTENTS. 


PARK 

What  Mrs.   Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  Says  of  the 

Boys, 9 

A  Letter  from  Home, 10 

The  Drummer  and  His  Grip,         ....  11 

A  Drummer's  Constancy, 13 

The  Drummer  to  His  Grip, 14 

My  Sweetheart ,        .        .  17 

"Horse  and  Horse,"        .        .        .        .        .        .  18 

The  Battered  Old  Grip, 20 

The  Drummer's  Baby, 23 

The  Drummer's  Life, 25 

The  Battered  Old  Grip's  Lament,        ...  26 

"  When  the  Check  is  on  the  Kiester,"         .        .  28 

The  Drummer's  Dream, 30 

Lamentations  of  the  Travelling  Man,          .        .  31 

"  In  the  Gloaming," 34 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Drummer, 35 

Never  go  Back  on  a  Travelling  Man,  .     -   . 

The  Rival  Drummers, 

Der  Drummer,        '.        .        .        .        .        .        . 

The  Toast, 

The  Blacksmith's  Story, 

Bill  Brown,  from  Cohoes, 

The  Veteran  and  His  Grandson 

Sergeant  John  Carter  and  Son 

Our  Folks, 

Banty  Tim, 

The  Old  Tools  in  a  Frame 

The  Old  Man  and  Jim,  .        . 

Paddy's  Excelsior, 


Extract  from  Speech  made  before  the  Louisville  Com 
mercial  Club,  by  £Jx-Gov.  J.  PROCTOR  KNOTT. 

"  I  object  to  the  term  Commercial  Traveller.  It  is 
too  indefinite  and  inconclusive.  Commercial '  Evan 
gelist  '  strikes  me  as  far  more  significant  and  appro 
priate,  especially  in  view  of  the  modern  acceptation 
of  the  word. 

"TheAvant  Courier  of  Christian  civilization,  who 
puts  aside  the  endearments  of  home  and  family,  and 
goes  bravely  out  into  the  world  on  his  Master's  work, 
defying  discomforts,  disease,  danger  and  death. 

"  I  hold  that  next  to,  the  religion  of  our  Divine  Sa 
viour  the  most  potential  of  all  promoters  of  human 
civilization,  is  commerce. 

"  It  ministers  to  our  wants,  multiplies  our  comforts, 
gratifies  our  tastes,  increases  our  enjoyments,  elevates 
our  natures,  and  prepares  the  way  for  the  Gospel  of 
Peace. 

"  It  disregards  alike  the  heat  of  the  tropics  and  the 
snows  of  the  frigid  zones.  It  dares  the  night  and  tem 
pests  of  the  trackless  sea,  it  spans  the  raging  torrent, 
it  brushes  the  mountain  out  of  the  way,  it  changes  the 
wilderness  into  a  teeming  field,  and  rears  the  stately 
palace  in  place  of  the  squalid  hovel.  The  school 
bell  beats  time  to  its  stately  march,  and  the  church 
spire  springs  up  in  its  pathway. 

"Why  should  not  the  forerunners  of  an  agency  so 
beneficent  be  termed  '  Evangelists? '  But  why  not, 
after  all,  stick  to  the  good  old  fashioned  but  sugges 
tive  word  '  Drummer.' 

"  Tourist  traveller  or  evangelist  may  be  more  eupho- 


8  EXTRACT. 

nious,  but  I  prefer  '  The  Drummer '  to  any  of  them. 
It  is  such  a  hale,  hearty  old  word,  so  suggestive  of 
energy,  courage,  and  manhood,  and  it  fits  the  mouth. 

"But  call  them,  what  you  will,  I  like  the  craft.  I 
have  always  found  them  a  genial,  whole-souled  set  of 
fellows,  as  well  as  intelligent,  energetic,  honorable 
business  men. 

"Do  you  see  that  fellow  curled  up  in  the  car  seat, 
fast  asleep,  unmindful  of  the  roar  of  the  train,  the 
yells  of  the  brakemeri,  the  ingress  and  egress  of  pas 
sengers?  He's  a  Drummer.  He  rode  forty  miles  last 
night  through  wind  and  rain  and  mud,  to  make  the 
point.  And  he  made  it. 

"Thatelick  young  man  who  is  helping  the  poor, 
tired  looking  woman  with  her  numberless  bundles  and 
her  sick  baby  ?  He's  a  Drummer  too. 

"And  that  bright-faced  youngster  who  is  rising  to 
give  the  venerable  old  gentleman  his  seat,  is  a  Drum 
mer  also. 

"And  so  are  those  four  fellows  at  the  rear  end  of  the 
car,  who  are  amusing  themselves  and  every  one  around 
them  with  their  flashes  of  wit  and  humorous  stories. 
They're  all  Drummers. 

"  The  closest  observers,  thekeenest  judges  of  human 
nature,  the  most  entertaining  narrators  of  curious  and 
interesting  facts  of  any  class  of  men  jn  the  world. 

"  '  All  hail  to  the  men  of  the  satchel 
The  sample,  and  iron-bound  box. 
For  they  have  the  stuff  within  their  skin 
That  stands  life's  rugged  knocks.1 " 


GEMS 

FROM  AN  OLD  DRUMMER'S  GRIP. 


WHAT   MRS.   ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 
SAYS   OF  THE   "BOYS." 

THIRST  in  the  crowded  car  is  lie  to  offer — 
-*-       This   "travelling   man/'  unhonored  and 

unsung — 

The  seat  he  paid  for  he  is  first  to  proffer 
To  some  lady  old  and  wrinkled,  or  some  woman 

fresh  and  young. 

Something,  a  trifle  from  his  samples  maybe, 
To  please  the  fancy  of  the  crying  baby. 

He  lifts  the  window  or  drops  the  curtain 
For  unaccustomed  hands.     He  lends  his  case 

For  a  bolster  for  a  child,  not  certain 
But  its  mamma  will  frown  him  in  the  face. 
So  anxiously  some  women  seek  for  danger 
In  every  courteous  act  of  every  stranger. 

Well  versed  is  he  in  all  those  ways  conducive 
To  comfort  where  least  comfort  can  be  found. 

He  turns  the  seat  unasked  yet  unobtrusive; 
His  little  deeds  of  thoughtfulness  abound. 


10         GEMS   FROM   AK   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Is  glad  to  please  you  or  have  you  please  him, 
Yet  takes  it  very  calmly  if  you  freeze  him. 

He  smooths  the  Jove-like  frown  of  the  official, 
By  paying  the  fare  of  one  who  cannot  pay. 

True  modesty  he  knows  from  artificial, 
Will  "  flirt,"  of  course,  if  you're  inclined  that  way. 
And  if  you  are,  be  sure  that  he  detects  you, 
And  if  you're  not,  be  sure  that  he  respects  you. 

The  sorrows  of  the  moving  world  distress  him; 
He  never  fails  to  lend  what  aid  he  can. 

A  thousand  hearts  to-day  have  cause  to  bless 

him, 

This  much  abused,  misused  "  commercial  man." 
I  do  not  seek  to  cast  a  halo  round  him, 
But  speak  of  him  precisely  as  I've  found  him. 


A  LETTEE  FEOM   HOME. 

HHHE  hotel  'bus  from  the  midnight  train, 

•*-      Brought  only  one  passenger  through  the  rain ; 

A  commercial  tourist,  weary  and  sad, 

For  trade  had  been  dull  and  collections  bad. 

Not  a  single  order  was  on  his  book, 
The  disgust  he  felt  was  shown  in  bis  look; 
With  a  careless  hand  he  wrote  his  name, 
On  the  page  of  a  book  unknown  to  fame. 


GEMS   FROM  AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP.         11 

The  drowsy  night  clerk  the  signature  scanned, 
Then  a  letter  placed  in  the  drummer's  hand; 
See  how  he  starts,  what  a  smile  of  delight 
Comes  over  his  face  at  the  welcome  sight. 

Open  the  envelope  is  quickly  torn; 
And  over  his  face,  so  weary  and  worn, 
Now  flit,  like  sunbeams  after  a  storm, 
Smiles  of  joy  as  the  message  takes  form. 

Thus  clouds  of  despair  that  will  often  appear 
To  the  travelling  man,  sometimes  in  the  year, 
Are  quickly  dispelled  by  such  simple  means 
As  one  friendly  letter — How  queer  it  seems! 

So  wives,  sweethearts,  brothers,  and  chums, 
If  you  know  where  we'll  be  when  Sunday  comes, 
Write  us  if  your  time  will  permit, 
Draw  on  us  at   sight   and  we  will  remit — OUR 
THANKS. 


THE   DRUMMER  AND  HIS   GRIP. 


the  rain  and  sleet  are  falling, 
-*~     And  the  roads  are  "  awful  muddy," 
Though  all  men  "  hard  times  "  are  bawling, 
Though  a  fellow's  nose  gets  ruddy, 


V 


12         GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Though  the  rivers  may  be  frozen, 
And  the  frost  may  bite  and  nip, 

They  can  never  stop  the  advent 
Of  the  drummer  and  his  grip. 

Though  the  trains  may  all  be  smashing, 

Though  the  horses  all  go  lame, 
The  drummer,  like  the  bedbug, 

Will  get  there  just  the  same; 
And  when  his  time  is  over, 

Will  come  smiling  from  his  trip 
For  he  always  "  makes  connection," 

Does  the  drummer  with  his  grip. 

Ah,  he  teaches  us  a  lesson, 

With  his  energy  and  grit, 
Things  that  "paralyze"  most  people 

Don't  astonish  him  a  bit. 
And  he's  ever  bright  and  cheerful, 

And  a  smile  is  on  his  lip ; 
He's  a  daisy  from  away  back, 

Is  the  drummer  with  his  grip. 

Give  him  a  kind  word  always, 

He'll  give  you  back  the  same; 
For  the  doings  of  some  "  black  sheep  " 

Don't  give  the  whole  tribe  blame. 
Far  down,  clear  down  to  Hades, 

Some  so-called  "good  men  "  slip, 
While  along  the  road  to  heaven 

Goes  the  drummer  (with  his  grip). 


GEMS   FKOM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         13 


A  DRUMMER'S   CONSTANCY. 

BY    JOHN    DEWITT. 
[In  American  Commercial  Traveler.] 

"YTTHEN  I  reach  out  for  my  grip, 
To  begin  some  lengthy  trip, 
I  look  into  the  eyes  of  my  sweetheart 

And  say,  "  Good-by,  my  dear." 

Then  I  kiss  away  each  tear 
That  trembles  on  her  lashes  as  I  start. 

And  I  whisper,  "  Pet,  I'll  try 
To  surprise  you  by-and-by, 

By  some  token  that  will  make  those  bright  eyes 
shine." 

But  she  says,  with  beaming  face, 

"Ah,  no  gifts  can  take  your  place, 
So  write  to  me  each  day,  if  but  a  line." 

When  a  woman  thus  is  true, 

Oh,  what  can  we  "drummers"  do, 

But  love  the  very  ground  they  walk  upon? 

We  might  search  the  whole  world  wide, 

But  we'd  find  no  girl  beside 
To  fill  our  hearts  like  this  beloved  one. 


14         GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

So  be  careful  when  you  say 
That  each  "  drummer/'  when  away, 
Is  sure  to  have  a  girl  in  every  place. 
Though  he's  obliged  to  roam, 
The  "  drummer  "  loves  his  home, 
And  worships  his  own  wife's  attractive  face. 

This  is  why  he  travels  miles 

To  see  sunniest  of  smiles 

Appear  upon  the  face  of  that  dear  wife; 

And  to  get  his  baby's  kiss, 

Which,  away,  he  has  to  miss, 
He  would  give  the  best  ten  years  of  his  life. 

If  you  doubt  what  I  noy  say, 

Just  you  try  this  plan  some  day, 

And  peep  into  some  traveller's  watch-case, 

And  there,  underneath  the  lid, 

You  will  find  a  picture  hid; 
Fll  guarantee  'twill  be  his  wife's  sweet  face. 


THE  DRUMMER  TO   HIS   GRIP. 

HTpULL  many  a  weary  mile,  old  Grip, 
•       "We've  travelled  o'er  together, 

Both  in  sunshine  and  the  storm — 
In  eve^y  kind  of  weather. 


GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD   DRUMMER'S   GRIP.         15 

How  many  hours  you've  waited,  Grip, 

Alone  in  some  hotel, 
While  I  was  selling  piles  of  goods, 

Or  "  getting  scooped  "  like well. 

I  never  was  profane,  old  Grip, 

You  never  heard  me  swear — 
Not  even  when  that  bottle  broke, 

And  I'd  no  shirt  to  wear. 

How  often  you've  "  held  down  the  seat," 

You  darling,  dear  old  Grip, 
When  I  went  to  the  smoking  car 

With  friends  to  take  a  sn smoke. 

I've  trusted  you  with  secrets, 

Grip,  in  fact,  you  hold  some  now, 
Which,  were  they  known  to  folks  at  home, 

Would  raise  an  awful  row. 

You've  kept  my  secrets  well,  old  Grip, 

At  home  and  "  on  the  road," 
Though  scores  and  scores  of  times,  old  friend, 

You've  carried  a  "  heavy  load." 

You've  seen  me  shed  sad  tears,  old  Grip, 

When  no  one  else  was  nigh, 
And  often  tried  to  comfort  me 

With  drinks  of  good  old  rye. 


16         GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP. 

We've  seen  some  hard  times,  too,  old  Grip;- 

Like  me,  you've  stood  abuse; 
Sometimes,  like  me,  you've  empty  been, 

And  sometimes  "  fuller'n  a  goose." 

Yet,  I  never  saw  the  time,  Grip, 

When  you  were  really  drunk, 
Though  oftentimes  I  had  to  "  preach  " 

To  our  old  "  sample  trunk." 

We're  gray-haired  rusty  chaps,  old  Grip, 

And  don't  look  very  fine;      , 
The  ladies  never  notice  us, 

As  when  we  used  to  shine. 

You  know  the  reason  too,  old  Grip — 
They  know  the  world  we've  seen; 

So  they  "  catch  on  "  to  newer  grips 
And  travelling  men  in  green. 

Oh,  well,  we've  seen  the  time,  Grip, 

Whene'er  we  left  the  train, 
It  was  to  leave  some  gentle  heart 

Just  fluttering  with  pain. 

And  you  could  tell  of  letters,  Grip, 

And  faces,  sweet  and  fair, 
Which  I  have  left,  day  after  day 

In  your  most  sacred  care. 


GEMS   FROM  AN  OLD   DRUMMERS   GRIP 

Well,  we  are  aged  now,  old  Grip — 

I'm  forty-nine,  you're  seven; 
Soon  you'll  be  laid  upon  the  shelf, 

I — sailing  off  toward  heaven. 

But  we  will  stick  together,  Grip, 

The  longest  that  we  can, 
For,  next  to  wife,  there  is  no  friend 

Like  Grip  to  a  travelling  man. 


A 


MY  SWEETHEAET. 

BY    JOHN    DEWITT. 
[In  American  Commercial  Traveler.] 

LITTLE  tot,  with  dark  brown  eyes, 

Waits  at  my  chamber  door, 
And  says,  "  Why  did  you  stay  so  long  ?  " 

You  promised  to  come  before. 
I  waited  for  you  most  *  free '  days, 

For  I  knew  that  you  would  come, 
And  bring  me,  in  your  sample  case 
Chocolate  and  chewing  gum. 

"  I've  nursed  my  dolly  awful  long, 
And  played  with  all  my  toys; 

I  got  so  tired  I  most  fell  asleep 
Playing  with  some  boys. 


18         GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Little  girls  like  me  can't  wait 
So  long  for  their  papa  to  come; 

You  must  tell  your  trade  to  hurry  up, 
Your  best  girl  waits  at  home. 

"  Just  take  me  with  you  for  one  trip, 

I'll  not  be  in  the  way; 
I'll  promise  to  keep  awful  still 

When  your  samples  you  display. 
At  night  I'll  sleep  close  by  you, 

With  my  arms  around  your  neck, 
And  I'll  help  you  write  your  letters, 

And  in  Ma's  will  send  a  check." 

God  bless  these  little  children, 

How  they  rule  us  with  their  sway, 
And  they  make  us  mighty  homesick, 

When  we're  many  miles  away. 
But  when  our  trip  is  over, 

And  they  meet  us  at  the  door, 
These  kind  of  "  sweethearts  "  are  the  style 

We  "  drummers  "  do  adore. 


"HORSE  AND   HOESE." 

T'D  been  on  a  trip  ten  months  (about  that) 
When  I  returned  to  find  my  Mary  true. 
And  though  I  questioned  her,  I  doubted  not, 
'Twas  unnecessary  so  to  do. 


GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD   DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         19 

'Twas  in  the  chimney  corner,  we  were  sitting. 

"  Mary,"  said  I,  "  have  you  been  always  true  ?  " 
"  Well  frankly,"  she  said,  just  pausing  in  her  knit 
ting 

"  I  don't  think  I've  unfaithful  been  to  you, 
But  since  you've  been  gone  I'll  tell  you  what 
Fve  done,  then  say  if  I've  been  true  or  not. 

"  When  first  you  went  away,  my  grief  was  uncon 
trollable, 

Alone  I  moaned  my  miserable  lot; 
My  friends  all  thought  me  inconsolable, 

Till  Captain  Clifford  came  from  Aldershot. 
To  flirt  with  him  amused  me  while  'twas  new — 
But  I  don't  count  that  unfaithfulness,  do  you  ? 

"  Charles  Augustus  Henderson  lent  me  his  horse; 

My !  how  we  rode  and  raced. 
We  scoured  the  downs,  we  rode  to  hounds, 

And  often  was  his  arm  around  my  waist, 
That  was  to  help  me  up  or  down;  but  who 
Would  count  that  unfaithfulness,  do  you  ? 

"  Next,  young  Frankie  Pipps,  just  twenty-one. 

We  met  at  uncle's;  'twas  at  Christmas  tide, 
And  'neath  the  mistletoe,  where  lips  meet  lips, 

He  gave  me  his  first  kiss.     (Here  she  sighed.) 
We  were   six  weeks  at  uncle's — my!   how  time 

flew!— 
But  I  don't  count  that  unfaithfulness,  do  you  ? 


20    GEMS  FEOM  AN"  OLD  DRUMMER'S  GRIP. 

"You  know  Reggy  Vere.     My!  how  he  sings! 

We  met,  'twas  at  a  picnic;  ah,  such  weather. 
And  see,  he  gave  me  the  first  of  these  two  rings, 

When  we  were  lost  in  Cliffton's  woods  together. 
What  jolly  times  we  had  together,  we  two — 
But  I  don't  count  that  unfaithfulness,  do  you? 

"  And  see,  I  have  another  ring.     This  plain  gold 

band  that's  shining  here." 
I  took  her  hand,  "  Mary,"  said  I,  "  can  it  be  that 

you-" 

Quoth  she,  "  That  I  am  Mrs.  Vere. 
I  don't  count  that  unfaithfulness,  do  you?  " 
"  N-o,"  I  replied,  "  for  I'm  married  too." 


THE  BATTERED   OLD   GRIP. 

C.  E.  BANKS. 
[In  American  Commercial  Traveler.] 

A   H  yes!  it  is  faded  and  ragged  and  worn; 
**••*•     One  handle  almost,  one  entirely,  gone ; 
The  erst  shining  lock  all  tarnished  and  scaled, 
The  key  long  since  lost,  and  every  clasp  failed; 
The  sides  falling  inward  in  gaunt,  hungry  way, 
And  open-mouthed  corners,  as  waiting  for  prey; 
But  incidents  many,  all  fleet-footed,  trip 
Through  my  mind,  at  the  sight  of  this  batter'd 
old  grip. 


GEMS  FROM:  AIT  OLD  DRUMMER'S  GRIP.      21 

How  often,  preparing  to  start  on  my  route, 
I  have  taken  it  down,  and,  dusting  it  out, 
Spread  it  wide  at  my  feet,  with  its  back  to  the 

floor, 
Wond'ring  meanwhile    if    'twould    hold    all  my 

things  as  before. 

Ah!  many's  the  friend  a  man  tries,  but  to  find 
Him  holding  far  less  in  his  heart  than  his  mind ; 
But  here's  a  companion  ne'er  gave  me  the  slip — 
Always  faithful  and  willing — my  batter'd  old  grip. 

First,  a  half  dozen  shirts  seem  to  fill  up  each  side, 
Yet  'kerchiefs  a  dozen,  scarfs  tied  and  untied, 
Collars,    cuffs,    underwear,    pipe,    tobacco     and 

gloves — 

A  score  of  small  knickknacks  fit  into  the  grooves; 
A  clothes  brush,  pomade,  a  picture  or  two 
Of  a  dear  Hampshire  lass,  to  look  at  when  blue, 
And  perhaps  a  small  phial  containing  a  "  nip," 
All  snugly  packed  into  the  batter'd  old  "grip." 

The  great  ocean  steamers  with  cabin  and  hold, 
Hang  the  sign  out  at  last  "no  more    here    en 
rolled;" 

The  street  car — capacity  something  immense — 
Refuses  at  last  a  place  for  your  pence; 
E'n  the  venerable  stage,  despite  legend  and  lore, 
Has  been  known  to  decline  the  "room  for  one 
more;" 


22         GEMS   FROM   AK    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

But  surely  a  lie  must  mantle  the  lip 
Of  him  who  would  say,  "  no  more  room  in  this 
grip  "  ? 

And  down  as  I  gaze,  sweet  memories  drift 
Through  the  channels  of  thought,  and  its  worn 

form  I  lift 

With  a  reverent  touch,  and  think,  with  a  sigh, 
Of  the  thousand  dear  things  in  the  long  since 

gone  by 
That  have  lain   in  its  pockets,  and  hid   in   its 

depths — 

A  mother's  kind  letters,  teaching  good,  true  pre 
cepts; 

And  others,  with  tokens  from  maiden's  pure  lip, 
Read  over  and  over,  held  place  in  the  "grip/' 

To-day  I  am  thirty  and  four,  yet  I  feel 

All  those  feelings  of  youth  and  love  o'er  me  steal 

As  I  gaze  at  its  dingy  old  covers  and  think 

In  my  first  manhood  days,  how  I  stood  on  the 

brink 
Of   life's    speeding   river   and    dreamed   of   and 

plann'd 

A  home  just  the  neatest  and  best  in  the  land, 
Where  a  sweet  face  would  greet  me  returned  from 

each  trip 
With  a  welcome  and  smile  for  myself-  and  the 

"grip- 


GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         23 

God  bless  every  stitch  in  the  shrunken  old  hide, 
That  has  floated  me  over  life's  changing  tide 
To  this  island  of  peace,  which  I  now  so  enjoy 
With  my  dear  loving  wife,  my  girl  and  my  boy; 
God  bless  it,  I  say,  in  palace  or  cot, 
In  wealth  or  in  poverty,  whate'er  my  lot, 
Though  stern  fate  should  from  me  all  other  gifts 

strip, 
I'll  cling  to  you  ever,  dear  batter'd  old  "  grip." 


THE   DEUMMER'S   BABY. 

u  1DIG  time  to-night,"  the  drummers  said, 
•~^     As  to  supper  they  sat  down; 
"  To-morrow's  Sunday,  and  now's  our  chance 
To  illuminate  the  town." 

"Good!"  cries  Bill  Barnes,  the  j oiliest — 

The  favorite  of  all; 
"Yes;  let's  forget  our  trouble  now 

And  hold  high  carnival." 

The  supper  done,  the  mail  arrives; 

Each  man  his  letters  scanning, 
With  fresh  quotations — up  or  down — 

His  busy  brain  is  cramming. 


24         GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

But  Bill — why,  what's  come  over  him — 

Why  turned  so  quick  about! 
He  says,  just  as  his  pards  start  forth; 

"I  guess  I  won't  go  out." 

His  letter  bore  no  written  word, 

No  prayer  from  vice  to  flee; 
Only  the  tracing  of  a  hand — 

A  baby  hand — of  three. 

What  picture  comes  before  his  mind — 
What  does  his  memory  paint  ? 

A  baby  at  her  mother's  knee — 
His  little  white-robed  saint. 

What  cares  a  man  for  ridicule 

Who  wins  a  victory  grand  ? 
Bill  slept  in  peace,  his  brow  was  smoothed 

By  a  shadowy  little  hand. 

Naught  like  the  weak  things  of  this  world 
The  power  of  sin  withstands ; 

No  shield  between  man's  soul  and  wrong 
Like  a  little  baby  hand. 


GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         25 


THE   DKUMMER'S  LIFE. 

C.  E.  BANKS. 
[In  American  Commercial  Traveler.] 

came  in  the  morning,  with  eager  eye 
The  register  scann'd,  then  quickly  sought 
The  merchant  out,  induced  him  to  buy, 

And  his  book  was  soon  with  an  order  fraught. 
So  the  drummer  comes  and  the  drummer  goes, 

And  his  heart  with  joy  is  ready  to  burst. 
He  recks  not,  he,  his  competitors'  woes 
But  hugs  himself  that  he  got  there  first. 

One  came  in  the  evening,  with  hopeful  air, 

And  spread  his  samples  in  a  hurried  way, 
But  left  full  soon,  bowed  down  with  care — 

The  "  other  fellow  "  had  passed  that  day. 
So  the  drummer  comes  and  the  drummer  goes, 

And  the  days  are  bright  and  the  days  are  sad, 
Yet  cheerful  always,  and  no  one  knows 

Why  the  heart  is  sore  of  the  drummer  lad. 

They  met  ere  a  month  was  scarcely  passed, 

And  hand  clasped  hand  in  firm,  true  grip, 
And  "  brother  "  and  "  brother  "  to  each  was  cast 

From  beaming  eye  and  speaking  lip. 
So  the  drummer  comes  and  the  drummer  goes, 

And  his  hand  is  ready,  his  heart  is  brave, 
To  buffet  life's  evils  with  sturdy  blows, 

Till  he  takes  his  last  order  and  fills — a  grave. 


26    GEMS  FROM  AN  OLD  DRUMMER'S  GRIP. 


THE   BATTERED   OLD   GEIFS   LAMENT. 

C.  E.  BANKS. 
[In  American  Commercial  Traveler.] 

~V7~ES,  I'm  an  °ld  gripsack  worn  out  in  the  race ; 
A  newer  and  brighter  has  taken  my  place  ; 
High  up  'neath  the  rafters  contemptuously  cast, 
Neglected,  to  dream  of  a  glorious  past ;  , 

No  comrade  to  share  my  lone  exile,  ah  me ! 
I  who  have  travelled  by  land  and  by  sea, 
In  my  old  age  forsaken  Amongst  cobwebs  and  dust, 
Slowly  falling  to  pieces  from  disuse  and  rust. 

It  is  gloomy  enough,  I  assure  you,  up  here 
In  this  grim,  dreary  place  and  oft-times  a  fear 
That  I  never  shall  see  the  bright  sunlight  again 
Stirs  my  shrunken  old  sides  with  a  wearisome  pain ; 
I  deserve  something  better  than  rust  and  mildew — 
To  my  trust  I  always  was  faithful  and  true — 
And  they  surely  could  spare  an  old  servant  a  nook 
Where  life  had  something  of  cheer  in  its  look. 

Oh !  the  pathway  of  life,  lay  it  out  as  we  may, 
A  word  or  a  breath  may  change  in  a  day ! 
And,  now  that  I'm  broken  by  service  and  age, 
I'm  tossed  like  a  vagabond  into  this  cage — 
Like  a  storm-beaten  ship  cast  up  on  the  strand — 
'Tis  the  way  of  the  world,  and  fate's  cruel  hand 
Has  little  of  pity;  our  usefulness  past, 
We  are  all  laid  aside  and  forgotten  at  last.    ' 


GEMS    FROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         27 

t 

My  master  has  now  all  the  comforts  of  life, 
A  neat  cheerful  home,  a  sweet  loving  wife, 
Bright,  rosy-cheeked  children  to  comfort  his  cheer, 
A  bank  account  growing  from  year  to  year; 
And  when  the  kind  darkness  has  driven  away 
The  shadows  that  mock  my  poor  semblance  of  day, 
And  their  concerted  voices  float  up  to  my  den 
In  laughter  and  song,  I  am  happy  again. 

Sometimes,  but  not  often,  two  pairs  of  small  feet 
Bring  two  little  figures  my  prison  to  greet, 
And  two  little  faces  make  sunshine  of  gloom, 
And  two  merry  voices  make  joy  in  the  room; 
And  oft  in  their  play,  with  frolic  and  shout, 
They  toss  my  batter'd,  worn  figure  about. 
Oh,  may  they  ne'er   suffer  the  heart- aches  and 

stings 
The  sorrows  and  woes  which  adversity  brings. 

Thus  day  after  day  I  lie  here  and  dream, 

While  drift  the  dull  years  down  Time's  sluggish 

stream, 
Calling  up  the  dear  pictures  of  days   "on   the 

road," 

When  trouble  and  care  was  a  feather-weight  load. 
The  engine's  shrill  whistle  strikes  sharp  on  my  ear, 
The  bluff,  hearty  greetings  of  "  brothers,"  I  hear; 
I  dream  and  awake  to  my  desolate  lot, 
To  feel  that  I  was,  and  know  I  am  not. 


28         GEMS   FEOM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Oh,  ye  who  successfully  'counter  life's  ills, 

And  mount  to  the  summit  of  fortune-kissed  hills, 

While  plenty  surrounds  you  and  pleasures  o'er- 

load, 

Remember  the  weaker  ones  passed  on  the  road, 
And  if  there's  a  brother  in  trouble  to-day, 
Who  neglected  himself  to  help  you  on  your  way, 
Help  him  out — who  can  tell  but  your  own  feet 

may  slip — 
Just  think  of  the  face  of  the  batter'd  old  grip. 


"WHEN  THE   CHECK  IS   ON  THE 
KIESTER." 

"TTTHEN  the  check  is  on  the  kiester  and  the 
price  book  put  away, 

And  the  drummer  turneth  homeward  at  the  clos 
ing  of  the  day, 

Then  it  is  that  dimpled  fingers  make  odd  stains 
upon  the  glass, 

And  little  eyes  are  peeping  at  the  people  as  they 
pass, 

Waiting  for  papa's  coming,  and  wondering  why 
he  stays, 

"  I'm  coming  certain,  FrfHay,"  is  what  his  postal 
says; 

But  "his  coming  certain,  Friday"  often  means 
the  following  day, 


GEMS    FROM   AK   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         29 

When  the  check  is  on  the  kiester  and  the  price 

book  put  away 
There  is  much  of  joy  and  promise  in  the  coming 

of  the  day, 
When  the  kiester  and  the  price  book  are  forever 

put  away. 

Of  course  he'll  miss  the  hasheries  and  welcome 
"  come  agin/' 

And  the  diamond-shirted  clerk,  and  the  bugs  that 
dwell  therein; 

But  there's  something  compensating  in  three 
square  meals  a  day, 

Prepared  by  hands  of  loved  ones  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  way, 

And  the  smile  that  always  greets  him  at  the  clos 
ing  of  the  day, 

When  the  check  is  on  the  kiester  and  the  price 
book  put  away. 

The  rattle,  noisy  clatter    of    the   dusty  railway 

train, 
And  the  dirt  roads  and  the  turnpikes  he'll  ne'er 

go  o'er  again; 

Combination  prices  and  bar  of  the  hotel 
Are  remembered  now  with  pleasure  for  the  goods 

they  helped  to  sell; 
And  the  "  kicker  "  and  the  grumblers  are  with  the 

"  chronics  "  classed, 


30         GEMS    FKOM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

And  are  only  now  remembered  as  vexations  of  the 

past; 
And  oh,  his  heart  is  joyful  as  the  brightest  sunlit 

day, 
For  the  check  is  on  the  kiester  and  the  price 

book's  put  away. 


THE   DEUMMER'S   DREAM. 

A    little  room  in  a  little  hotel, 
.       .     In  a  little  country  town ; 
On  a  little  bed  with  a  musty  smell, 

A  man  was  lying  down. 

A  great  big  man  with  a  great  big  snore — 
For  he  lay  on  his  back,  you  see — 

And  a  peaceful  look  on  his  face  he  wore, 
For  sound  asleep  was  he. 

In  his  dreams  what  marvellous  trips  he  made, 

What  heaps  of  stuff  he  sold ! 
And  nobody  failed  and  everybody  paid, 

And  his  orders  were  good  as  gold. 

He  smiled  and  smothered  a  scornful  laugh, 
When  his  fellow-drummers  blowed; 

For  he  knew  no  other  had  sold  the  half 
Of  what  his  order-book  showed. 


GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         31 

He  got  his  letter  from  home  one  day: 

"  Dear  Sir — we've  no  fitter  term 
To  use  in  your  case  than  simply  to  say : 

Henceforth  you  are  one  of  the  firm." 

And  a  glorious  change  it  made  in  his  life, 

He  now  from  the  road  withdrew ; 
And  really  soon  got  to  know  his  wife 

His  son,  and  his  daughters  too. 

But  with  a  thump  —  bang- whang  —  thump-bang 

again 
The  "  boots  "  had  knocked  at  the  door ; 

"  It's  very  near  time  for  the  5 :10  train," 
And  the  "  Drummer's  Dream  "  was  o'er. 


LAMENTATIONS    OF    THE   TEA  YELLING 

MAN. 

BY   AN   OLD    DRUMMER. 

"X7~OU  who  envy  the  travelling  man's  life, 
-1-      And  fondly  imagine  it  free  from  all  strife, 
Just  take  out  some  samples  for  one  short  trip, 
And  if  not  very  pious,  an  oath  you'll  let  slip. 

You  arrive  at  the  town,  in  the  evening,  quite  late, 
"  The  good  rooms  are  all  taken  "  such  is  your  fate. 
The  supper  is  cold,  and  not  fit  to  eat, 
And  the  beds,  well  for  hardness  they  could  not  be 
beat. 


32         GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

You  arise  in  the  morning,  quite  unrefreshed, 
You  swallow  your  breakfast,  and  then  go  in  quest 
Of  a  merchant  who  lives  at  the  end  of  the  town. 
And  you  learn,  from  his  house  he  has  not  yet 
come  down. 

Your  samples  you  place  by  the  side  of  the  door, 
And  fondly  imagine,  an  order  in  store. 
But  after  long  waiting  he  comes  only  to  say, 
"There's  nothing  I'm  needing  in  your  line  to 
day." 

You  may  draw  your  argument  down  very  fine, 
And  expatiate  on  your  "  very  fine  line/' 
But  the  magic  quickly  goes  out  of  your  lorj 
"When  you  learn  a  competitor's  just  been  there 
before. 

Your  customer  may  be  a  man  of  the  kind, 

That  by  talking,  and   talking,  and  talking  him 

blind, 

You  may  get  an  order,  although  very  small, 
It  helps  pay  expenses,  and  that's  about  all. 

Perhaps  a  twenty-mile  ride  you  have  had, 

Over  roads  that  were  hilly  and  terribly  bad, 

But  your  courage  goes  up,  when  he  invites  you  to 

call, 
And  he'll  "  Probably  want  some  goods  in  the  fall." 

You  go  to  the  depot,  the  next  train  to  get, 
'Tis  four  hours  late,  there's  no  use  to  fret. 


GEMS    FKOM   AH   OLD   DEUMMEK's   GKIP.          33 

You  take  out  a  cigar  to  have  a  good  smoke, 
When  you  feel  in  your  ribs,  the  station  man's  poke. 

"No  smoking  allowed  here,  don't  you   see  the 

sign." 
And  even  that  comfort,  there,  we're  forced  to 

resign. 

Then  out  on  the  platform  we  plod  on  and  plod, 
And  envy  the  man  that  carries  the  hod. 

Our  employers  expect  us  to  sell  lots  of  goods, 
In  towns  that  are  lonely  and  far  in  the  woods. 
We  travel  on  freight  trains,  we  drive  in  a  hurry, 
Expenses  foot  up  and  we  get  in  a  flurry; 

Our  samples  are  heavy,  the  charges  are  high, 
We  have  no  redress,  the  money  must  fly, 
An  itemized  expense  account  they  always  expect, 
And  if  it  runs  light,  they're  sure  its  correct. 

Now  if  you  merchants  who  sit  in  the  store, 
And  consider  the  travelling  man  always  a  bore. 
Would  think  the  situation  o'er  for  a  while, 
When  he  enters  your  door,  he  would  meet  with  a 
smile. 

They  keep  you  well  posted,  and  you  certainly  can 
Buy  your  goods  best  of  the  travelling  man. 
Don't  send  then  away  with  a  frown  or  a  jeer, 
And  your  balance  will  please  you  at  the  end  of  the 
year. 


34         GEMS   FKOM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

And  you  who  send  out  the  travelling  men, 
Encourage  them,  if  only  by  the  scratch  of  a  pen, 
They'll  render  good  service,  will  work  with  their 

might, 
If  they  feel  that  the  "House  "is  treating  them 

"  white." 


"IN  THE  GLOAMING." 

NOTE.— If  any  of  the  "boys,"  who  read  this  little  book,  have  ever 
taken  a  trip  by  steamer,  from  Portland,  Ore.,  to  San  Francisco,  Cal., 
they  will  appreciate  the  following  parody  on  "In  the  Gloaming," 
said  to  have  been  written  by  a  daughter  of  Bret  Harte. 

the  steamer,  Oh !  my  darling, 
When  the  fog  horns  screech  and  blow, 
And  you  hear  the  steward's  foot  steps 

Softly  come  and  softly  go. 
When  the  passengers  are  groaning, 
With  a  nameless,  unknown  woe, 
Don't  you  think  it  Letter,  darling, 
You  and  I  should  go  below  ? 

In  the  cabin,  Oh !  my  darling, 

Think  not  bitterly  of  me, 
Though  I  rushed  away  and  left  you, 

In  the  middle  of  our  tea. 
I  was  seized  with  sudden  longing 

To  behold  the  deep,  blue  sea. 
It  was  best  that  I  should  leave,  dear, 

Best  for  you,  and  best  for  me. 


GEMS    FROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         35 


THE   DRUMMER. 

CONTRIBUTED    BY   LAFE   HEIDELL, 
Rochester,  N.  Y. 

f  I  THERE'S  nothing  like  a  drummer  when  he's 

out  upon  the  road, 
And  the  season's  one  long  summer  with  a  sun  that 

never  glowed 
In  brighter  colors  in  the  tropics,  when  the  world 

is  painted  red, 
And  the  pumpkins  in  the  dew  drop,  and  the  dew 

drop's  in  his  head. 

There  is  no  other  fellow  that  is  such  a  prince  as  he, 
When     he's    just     a    little    "mellow"    and     as 

"  chummy  "  as  can  be. 
Then  he  tells  of  how  old  Moses  took  his  account 

of  stock 
And  got  hosiery  written  "hoses"  when  the  rye 

was  on  the  rock. 

No,  there  isn't  any  fellow  that  can  sing  a  jollier 

song 
When  he's  just  a  trifle  "  mellow  "  and  the  nights 

are  growing  long 
Than   the   drum,  drum,  drum,   drum,   drummer 

when  he  does  his  level  best, 
W'hen  the  moon  shines  on  the  pumpkin,  and  the 

pumpkin's  way  out  west. 


36         GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Yet  he  has  his  serious  moments,  does  this  hardy 

son  of  toil, 
And  he  always  has  a  fancy  for  the  rare  side  of  the 

broil, 
He  sides  with  the  under  dog  if  the  whelp  is  not  a 

cur, 
And  he  always  knows  a  hog,  by  the  color  of  his  fur. 


NEVER    GO    BACK    ON    A    TRAVELLING 
MAN. 

BY    ROBERT   LOVELL. 

,  pity,  kind  gentlefolks,  friends  of  human- 

itj, 

Sympathy's  scarce,  since  the  world  first  began, 
And  did  you  but  know  it,  you  ought  to  bestow  it 
If  ever  you  did,  on  the  travelling  man. 
You  may  call   us  all  "runners,"  "guerilLs"  or 

"  bummers  " 

And  agents  or  "drummers"  or  what  else  you  can; 
But  you'll  always  regret  it,  and  don't  you  forget  it, 
If  you  ever  go  back  on  the  travelling  man. 

Right  here,  I  make  mention,  'tis  not  my  intention 
To  shield  the  wrong  doing  of  some  erring  "  pard." 
If  he  don't  use  discretion,  some  foolish  transgres 
sion 

Will  drop  his  name  off  from  the  firm's  business 
card. 


GEMS   FROM   AX    OLD   DRUMMEK'S   GRIP.         37 

No  use  in  dissenting,  he'll  quit  representing 
The  house  that  he  has  so  disgracefully  served; 
No  longer  the  trade  that  he  formerly  made 
Will  keep,  for  his  coming,  their  orders  reserved. 

There  is  no  use  disguising  the  fact,  though  sur 
prising, 

That  of  trials  and  troubles  the  "  boys  "  have  their 
load; 

Our  life  would  be  dreary,  indeed  we'd  get  weary, 

Did  we  not  have  our  fun  while  we're  out  on  the 
road. 

There  is  one  thing  quite  certain,  you  charge  us 
with  flirtin' 

With  all  the  gay  lasses  we  happen  to  meet, 

When  even  the  preachers  adore  the  dear  creatures. 

Don't  you  think  they'd  all  better  be  kept  off  the 
street  ? 

Ask  conductors  or  train  men,  livery  or  dray  men, 
Or  the  two-dollar  a  day  men,  who  sell  us  our  hash, 
Just  ask  them  quite  plainly,  on  whom  they  count 

mainly, 

For  the  root  of  all  evil,  but  best  known  as  cash, 
And  they  all  to  a  man,  sir,  will  give  you  this  an 
swer, 

"We  generally  try  to  make  all  that  we  can; 
But  of  all  of  our  patrons,  the  '  drummers '  are  fat 

ones 
And  our  profits  all  come  from  the  travelling  man." 


38         GE-MS   FBOM   AH   OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP. 

In  closing  this  ditty,  we  don't  crave  your  pity, 
We  ask  your  good  will  which  we  hope  ne'er  to  lack, 
Eemember  us  kindly,  don't  slander  us  blindly, 
For  in  sixty  days  more  we'll  be  'round  on  your 

track. 

To  the  trade,  one  and  all,  big  dealers  and  small, 
And  we  mean  what  we  say  when  we  make  the  re 
quest, 

If  your  credit's  "  0.  K."  and  you're  able  to  pay, 
Eeserve  us  big  orders — that  suits  us  the  best. 


THE   EIVAL  DRUMMERS. 

TT  was  two  rival  drummers, 
•*•     The  merits  they  did  blow 
Of  safes  were  in  St.  Louis  made 
And  safes  from  Chicago. 

They  chanced  upon  a  merchant 

Who  fain  a  safe  would  buy, 
And  in  the  praise  of  their  houses'  wares 

The  drummers  twain  did  vie, 
Each  striving  to  see  which  could  construct 

The  most  colossal  lie. 

Out  spake  the  St.  Louis  drummer, 

"  Once  a  man  a  cat  did  take, 
And  locked  the  animal  in  a  safe 

Of  our  superior  make. 


GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         39 

"  They  made  a  bonfire  round  the  safe 

With  tar  and  kerosene, 
And  for  four-and-twenty  hours  it  blazed 

With  raging  heat,  I  ween. 

"  The  fire  went  out,  the  safe  was  cooled, 

And  I  will  forfeit  five 
Hundred  good  dollars  if  that  cat 

Did  not  come  out  alive/' 

Then  mild  upspake  and  answered  him 

The  Chicago  safe-agent : 
"  With  our  safe  one  day  we  did  essay 

The  same  experiment. 

"We  placed  the  safe  selected  on 

Of  coals  a  fiery  bed, 
And  pitch  pine  we  heaped  in  coal-oil  steeped 

Till  the  iron  glowed  bright  red; 
And  in  forty-eight  hours  we  ope'd  the  safe 

And,  alas !  the  cat  was  dead ! " 

"  Was  dead  ?  Aha !  "  his  rival  cried, 

With  a  triumphant  breath; 
But  the  Chicago  man  replied: 

"  Yes ;  the  cat  was  frozen  to  death ! " 

Xo  word  that  St.  Louis  drummer  spoke, 

But  silent  stood  and  wan, 
While  the  Kansas  merchant  an  order  gave 

To  the  Chicago  man. 


40         GEMS   FKOM   AN   OLD    DKUMHER'S    GULP. 


DER  DRUMMER. 

"TTTHO  puts  oup  at  der  pest  ho'tel, 

Und  dakes  his  oysders  on  der  schell, 
Und  mit  der  frauleins  cuts  a  schwell  ? 
Der  drummer. 

Who  vash  it  gomes  indo  mine  schtore, 
Drows  down  his  pundles  on  der  vloor, 
Und  nefer  schtops  to  shut  der  door  ? 
Der  drummer 

Who  dakes  me  py  der  handt  und  say : 
"  Hans  Pf  eiff  er,  how  you  vas  to-day  ?  " 
Und  goes  for  peesness  rightdt  avay? 
Der  drummer. 

Who  shpreads  his  zamples  in  a  trice, 
Und  dells  me  "  look,  und  see  how  nice  ?  " 
Und  says  I  gets  "  der  bottom  price  ?  " 
Der  drummer. 

Who  says  der  tings  vas  eggstra  vine — 
"  Vrom  Sharmany,  ubon  der  Rhine  " — 
Und  sheats  me  den  times  oudt  of  nine  ? 
Der  drummer. 

Who  dells  how  sheap  der  goots  vas  bought, 
Mooch  less  as  vot  I  gould  imbort, 
But  lets  dem  go,  as  he  vas  "  short  ?  " 
Der  drummer. 


GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD   DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         41 

Who  varrants  all  der  goots  to  suit 
Der  gustomers  ubon  his  route, 
And  veil  dey  gomes  dey  vas  no  goot  ? 
Der  drummer. 

Who  gomes  arount  ven  I  been  oudt, 
Drinks  oup  mine  bier,  und  eats  mine  kraut, 
Und  kiss  Katrina  in  der  mout  ? 

Der  drummer. 

Who,  ven  he  gomes  again  dis  vay, 
Vill  hear  vot  Pfeiffer  has  to  say, 
Und  mit  a  plack  eye  goes  avay  ? 

Der  drummer. 


THE   TOAST. 

/~^OULD  I  sip  of  the  nectar,  the  gods  only  can, 
^-^     I  would  fill  up  the  glass  to  the  brim. 
And  drink  success  to  the  "  travelling  man  " 
And  the  house  represented  by  him. 

And  could  I  but  tincture  the  glorious  draught 
With  his  smiles,  as  I  drink  to  him  then, 

With  the  laughs  he  has  laughed,  and  the  jokes  he 

has  told, 
I  would  fill  up  the  goblet  again. 


42         GEMS   FROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP. 

I  would  drink  to  the  sweetheart  that  bade  him 

good-bye 

With  a  tenderness  thrilling  in  bliss; 
Ah,  he  thinks  of  her  now,  as  his  heart  heaves  a 

sigh, 
Remembering  the  sweets  of  the  kiss. 

To  the  purest  of  hearts  and  fairest  of  hands 
I  would  drink  with  my  hopes  and  my  prayers 

For  the  one   she   must  trust,  is    a    "travelling 

man" 
Who  will  share  all  her  joy  and  her  cares. 

I  would  drink  to  the  wife  with  the  babe  at  her 
knee, 

Who  awaits  his  return,  bye  and  bye 
Who  opens  his  letters  so  tremulously, 

And  reads  while  the  tears  fill  her  eye. 

I  would  quaff  to  the  feeble  old  mother 

Who  sits  by  the  fireside  alone, 
And  murmurs  and  weeps,  o'er  the  stocking  she 
knits 

While  she  thinks  of  her  wandering  son. 

I  would  drink  long  life  and  health  to  the  friend 
Who  greets  him  with  many  a  cheer, 

To  the  generous  hand  the  stranger  extends 
To  the  sojourner  wandering  here. 


GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         43 

And  when  he  quits  this  earthly  abode, 
And  has  paid  the  last  fare  that  he  can, 

Mine  Host  of  the  Inn  at  the  end  of  the  road, 
Will  welcome  the  "travelling  man." 


G.  A.  R.  GEMS. 

[Several  Drummers,  who  are  also  members  of  the  G.  A.  R.,  have 
requested  that  I  include  in  this  little  volume  a  few  selections  svhieh 
they  have  heard  me  give  at  their  camp  fires,  and  in  compliance  with 
such  request  I  have  added  the  following  war  poems  and  miscellane 
ous  pieces,  which  I  hope  will  touch  a  tender  chord  in  the  hearts  of 
the  brave  old  boys.— N.  R.  S.] 

THE   BLACKSMITH'S   STORY. 

FRANK  OLIVE. 

~TT7"ELL,  no !  my  wife  ain't  dead,  sir,  but  I  lost 

her  just  the  same. 

She  left  me  voluntarily,  and  neither  was  to  blame. 
It's  rather  a  queer  story,  but  I  think  that  you'll 

agree, 
When  you've  heard    the   circumstances,   it   was 

rather  rough  on  me. 
She  was  a  soldier's  widow,  he  was  killed  at  Mal- 

vern  Hill, 
And  after  I  had  married  her,  she  seemed  to  sorrow 

for  him  still. 
But  I  brought  her  here  to  Kansas,  and  I  never 

want  to  see 
A  better  wife  than  Mary  was  for  five  bright  years 

to  me. 


GEMS   FKOM   AN   OLD   DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         45 

A  change  of  scene  brought  cheerfulness,  and  soon 
arose  a  glow 

Of  happiness,  warmed  Mary's  cheeks  and  melted 
all  their  snow. 

And  I  think  she  loved  me  some,  that  I'm  bound 
to  think,  sir; 

And  as  for  me,  I  can't  begin  to  tell  how  much  I 
loved  her. 

Three  years  ago  the  baby  came,  our  humble  home 
to  bless, 

And  then  I  reckon  I  was  nigh  to  perfect  happi 
ness. 

'*T\vas  hers,  'twas  mine,  but  I  can't  explain  to  you 

How  that  little  girl's  weak  fingers  our  hearts  to 
gether  drew. 

Once  we  watched  it  through  a  fever,  and  with 

each  gasping  breath 
:b  with  an  awful,  nameless  woe,  we  waited  for 

its  death. 

1  though  I'm  not  a  pious  man,  our  hearts  to 
gether  there 
"or  Heaven  to  spare  our  darling  one,  went  up  in 

voiceless  prayer. 

'.ud  when  the  doctor  said  'twould  live  what  words 
our  joy  could  tell. 

Clasped  in  each   other's   arms,  our  grateful  tears 
together  fell. 

So  you  see  the  shadows  sometimes  fell  across  our 
little  nest, 


46         GEMS   PROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

But  it  only  made  the  sunshine  seem  a  doubly 

welcome  guest. 
Work  came  to  me  a  plenty,  and  I  kept  the  anvil 

ringing, 
Early  and  late,  you'd  find  me  there  a  humming 

and  a  singing, 
Love  moved  my  arm  to  labor,  and  moved   my 

tongue  to  song, 
And   though    my   singing  wasn't   sweet,  it   was 

tremendous  strong. 
One  day  a  one-armed  stranger  stopped  to  have  me 

nail  a  shoe, 

And  while  at  work  for  him  we  passed  a  compli 
ment  or  two. 
I  asked  him  how  he  lost  his  arm,  he  said  'twas 

shot  away 
At   Malvern   Hill.      At   Malvern   Hill!    did   you 

know  Robert  May  ? 

That's  me.    You !  You !  I  cried,  choking  with  hor 
rid  doubt, 
If  you're  the  man  just  follow  me,  we'll  try  this 

mystery  out. 
With  dizzy  steps  I  led  him  in  to  Mary.     God! 

'twas  true, 
Then  the  bitterest  pangs  of  misery,  unspeakable 

I  knew. 
Frozen  with  deadly  horror  she  stared  with  eyes  of 

stone 
And  from  her  quivering  lips  there  broke  one  wild 

despairing  moan. 


GEMS  FROM  AN  OLD  DRUMMER'S  GRIP.    47 

'Twas  he,  the  husband  of  her  youth,  now  risen 

from  the  dead, 
But  all  too  late,  and  with  a  cry  her  shattered 

senses  fled. 
What  could  be  done?    He  was  reported  dead. 

On  his  return 
He  strove  in  vain  some  tidings  of  his  absent  wife 

to  learn. 
'Twas  well  that  he  was  innocent,  else  I'd  have 

killed  him,  too, 
So  dead  he  never  would  have  riz  'till  Gabriel's 

trumpet  blew. 
It  was  agreed  then  that  Mary  between  us  should 

decide, 

And  each  by  her  decision  would  sacredly  abide. 
No  sinner  at  the  judgment  seat  waiting  eternal 

doom 
Could  suffer  what  I  did,  waiting  sentence  in  that 

room. 
Rigid  and  breathless  there  we  stood,  with  nerves 

as  tense  as  steel, 

While  Mary's  eyes  sought  each  face  in  piteous  ap 
peal. 

God,  could  not  a  woman's  duty  be  less  hardly  rec 
onciled 
Between  her  lawful  husband  and  the  father  of 

her  child  ? 
But  how  my  heart  was  chilled  to  ice,  when  Mary 

knelt  and  said, 


48         GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP. 

"  Forgive  me,  John,  he  is  my  husband,  here  alive, 

not  dead." 
I  raised  her  up  tenderly,  and  tried  to  tell  her  she 

was  right, 
But  somehow  in  my  aching  heart  the  prisoned 

words  stuck  tight. 
"  But,  John,  I  can't  leave  baby."    What  wife  and 

child,  cried  I, 
Must  I  yield  all,  Ah!    cruel  fate,  better  that  I 

should  die. 
Think  of  the  long,  sad,  lonely  hours,  waiting  in 

gloom  for  me, 
No  wife  to  cheer  me  with  her  love,  no  babe  to 

climb  my  knee. 
And  yet  you    are  her  mother,  and  the  sacred 

mother  love 
Is  still  the  purest,  tenderest  tie  that  Heaven  ever 

wove. 
Take  her,  but  promise,  Mary,  for  that  will  bring 

no  shame, 
My  little  girl  shall  bear,  and  learn  to  lisp  her 

father's  name. 
It  may  be  in  the  life  to  come,  I'll  meet  my  child 

and  wife, 
But  yonder  at  that  cottage  gate,  we  parted  for 

this  life. 
One  long  hand-clasp  from  Mary,  and  my  dream 

of  love  was  done, 
One  long  embrace  from  baby,  and  my  happiness 

was  gone. 


GEMS   FEOM  AN  OLD   DEUMMEE's   GEIP.        49 

BILL   BROWN,  FROM  COHOES. 

JOSEPH    DE   BAETHE. 

S,  stranger,  I'm  bu'sted.     The  circus  went 

up, 
An'  I'm  trampin'  back  home.     Will  I  what — take 

a  sup  ? 

Well,  I'd  smile !    You're  a  stunner !    From — thun 
der!  Cohoes  ? 
Why,  shake.     You  might  know  that  I  wouldn't 

refuse. 
From  Cohoes !  Well,  I'm  stabbed !     An'  you  know 

Billy  Brown 
An'  the  rest  of  the  fellows  that  hail  from  that 

town  ? 
Yes,  Bill  Brown,  my  old  pardner;   a  mighty  fine 

lad! 

What,  bu'sted  agin  ?     Well,  I  swow,  that's  too  bad. 
He  wasn't  no  cherub,  was  William,  but  then 
He  was  always  a  royal  good  man  among  men. 
He  was  quick  with  his  hands  an'  hasty  in  speech, 
Was  lightnin'  in  kickin'  an'  long  in  his  reach, 
But  down  far  beneath  the  old  jumper  he  wore 
Beat  a  heart  that  was  honest  an'  true  to  the  core ! 
An'  I'll  never  forget — my  regards.     Ah !  that  cup 
Seems  to  warm  my  old  heart.     I  don't  mind — fill 

'em  up ! 
*  *  *  *  *  * 


50         GEMS    FEOM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

It  was  out  in  Ohio.     The  war  had  just  closed, 
An'  a  good  many  men  as  was  brothers  with  those 
Who  pulled  down  the  old  flag  to  set  up  the  new, 
An'  who  fought  in  the  gray  'gainst  the  others  in 

blue, 
Had  turned  their  eyes  West,  an'  were  ploddin' 

their  way 

Wherever  God's  mercy  allowed  them  to  stay. 
It's  not  that  I'm  down  on  Ohio  at  all 
I'm  tellin'  this  story.     I  want  to  recall 
How  one  soldier  who  fought  for  the  cause  that 

was  won 

Stood  up  like  a  man  for  a  perishing  son 
Of  the  cause  that  was  lost.     How  I  lov'd  his  'good 

will! 

I  worshipped  him  then,  an'  I  worship  him  still. 
But,  on  with  the  story.     It  happened  this  wise : 
One  day  in  the  habit  he  couldn't  disguise 
There  came  to  a  town  in  Ohio  a  man 
Who  had  wasted  his  strength   in  the  war  that 

began 

With  the  storming  of  Sumter.     Hungry  an'  poor, 
He  asked  for  a  crust  at  a  wealthy  man's  door, 
An'  told  them  his  story.     Then  up  went  the  cry! 
"  He  ought  to  be  lynched ! "  and  a  crowd  gathered 

by. 

An'  into  that  crowd  like  a  bullet  there  shot 
A  form  that  the  rebel  has  never  forgot; 
An'  he  gazed  for  a  moment  about  him,  an'  then 


GEMS    FROM  AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         51 

Cried  out  in  a  ringin'  voice:  " Shame  on  ye,  men! 
Would  you  harm  a  poor  devil  because  he  went 

wrong  ?  " 
An'  a  broad-shouldered  teamster  who  stood  in  the 

throng 
Yelled  forth :  "  He's  a  rebel,  an'  fought  'gainst  the 


Pulled  down  the  barr'd  banner  an'  raised  up  a 

rag!" 

Bill  halted  him  then,  an',  said  he  with  a  frown : 
"  That's  a  thing  of  the  past,  for  the  war's  been  put 

down!" 
But  the  crowd  were  all  mad  an'  wouldn't  keep 

still, 
An'  they  swore  they  would  tear  the  blue  clothes 

off  of  Bill 

If  he  didn't  move  on,  or  ventured  to  speak 
Again  in  defence  of  a  low  Southern  sneak. 
That's  all  as  was  needed  to  stir  up  Bill  Brown! 
I'll  bet  if  an  earthquake  had  scooped  in  the  town 
It  wouldn't  have  scattered  them  anywhere  near 
As  much  as  Bill's  fisticuffs  filled  them  with  fear: 
For,  you  see,  the  blue  suit  they  had  threaten'd  to 

tear 

Was  the  very  one  Bill  had  fought  in  "  down  there ; " 
An'  he  did  up  that  gang  in  a  real  han'some  way — 
As  easy  as  lightnin',  as  if  'twas  but  play, 
Then  he  put  out  his  hand  and  he  said :  "  Come 

with  me." 


52         GEMS    FROM   AH    OLD    DRUMMEK's    GRIP. 

An'  we  went.     For  'twas  I  was  the  reb — do  you 

see  ? 

An'  Tie  thinks  I'm  older  an'  blinder,  you  say  ? 
An'  you're  laughin'I     Great  caravan!     Gol  durn 

my  shoes, 
If  it  isn't  —  yes,   bless   me  —  Bill  Brown — from 

Cohoes ! 


THE  VETERAN  AND  HIS  GRANDSON. 

BY   J.  W.  CRAWFORD  (CAPT.  JACK). 

Dedicated  to  Corporal  James  Tanner. 

"1    TOLD  on!  Hold  on!  My  goodness!     You  take 

my  breath,  my  son, 
A  firm'  questions  't  me  like  shots  from  a  Gatlin 

gun. 

Why  do  I  wear  this  eagle  an'  flag  an'  brazen  star  ? 
An'  why  do  my  old  eyes  glisten  when  somebody 

mentions  war  ? 
An'  why  do  I  call  men  "  Comrade  ?  "  an'  why  do 

my  eyes  grow  bright 
When  you  hear  me  tell  your  gran'ma  I'm  goin'  to 

Post  to-night  ? 
Come  here,  you  inquisitive  rascal,  and  set  on  your 

grandpa's  knee, 
An'  I'll  try  to  answer  the  broadsides  you've  been 

a-firin'  at  me. 


GEMS   FROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP.        53 

Away  back  in  the  sixties,  and  along  afore  you 

were  born, 
The  news  came  a-flashin'  to  us  one  bright  and 

sunny  morn, 
That  some  of  our  Southern  brothers,  a-thinkin'  no 

doubt  'twar  right, 
Had  trailed  their  guns  on  our  banner,  an'  opened 

a  nasty  fight. 
The  great  big  guns  war  a  boomin',  an'  the  shot 

flyin'  thick  and  fast, 
And  troops  all  over  the  Southland  war  rapidly 

bein'  massed : 
An'  a  thrill  went  through  the  nation — a  fear  that 

our  glorious  land 
Might  be  split  an'  divided  an'  ruined  by  mistaken 

brothers'  hand. 


Lord,  but  wan't  there  excitement,  an'  didn't  the 
boys'  eyes  flash  ? 

An'  didn't  we  curse  our  brothers  for  bein'  so 
foolish  an'  rash  ? 

An'  didn't  we  raise  the  neighbors  with  loud  and 
continued  cheers 

^Yhen  Abe  sent  out  a  dockyment  a-callin'  for  vol 
unteers  ? 

An'  didn't  we  flock  to  the  colors  when  the  drums 
began  to  beat, 

An'  didn't  we  march  with  proud  steps  along  the 
village  street  ? 


54         GEMS    FROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

An'   didn't   the  people   cheer  us   when   we    got 

aboard  the  cars 
With  the  flag  a-wavin'  o'er  us,  and  went  away  to 

the  wars  ? 

I'll  never  forget  your  gran'ma  as  she  stood  out 
side  o'  the  train, 
Her  face  as  white  as  a  snowdrift,  her  tears  a-fallin' 

like  rain. 
She  stood  there  quiet  and  death-like,  'mid  all  o' 

the  rush  and  noise, 
For  the  war  war  a-takin'  from  her,  her  husband 

and  three  brave  boys — Bill, 
Charley,  and  little  Tommy — just  turned  eighteen, 

but  as  true 

An'  gallant  a  little  soldier  as  ever  wore  the  blue. 
It  seemed  almost  like  murder  for  to  tear  her  poor 

heart  so, 
But  your  gran'dad  couldn't  stay,  baby,  an'  the 

boys  war  determined  to  go. 

The  evenin'  afore  we  started  she  called  the  boys 

to  her  side, 
An'  bold  'em  as  how  they  war  always  their  mother's 

joy  and  pride, 
An'  though  her  soul  was  in  torture,  an'  her  poor 

heart  bleedin'  an'  sore, 
An'  though  she  needed  her  darlings,  their  country 

needed  'em  more. 


GEMS   FKOM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         55 

She  told  'em  to  do  their  duty  wharever  their  feet 

might  roam, 
An'  to  never  forgit  in  battle  their  mother  was 

prayin'  at  home; 
An'  if  (an'  the  tears  near  choked  her)  they  should 

fall  in  front  o'  the  foe, 
She'd  go  to  the  blessed  Saviour  and  ax  him  to 

lighten  the  blow. 

Bill  lays  an'  awaits  the  summons  'neath  Spottsyl- 

vania's  sod. 
An'  on  the  field  of  Antietam  Charlie's  spirit  went 

back  to  God; 

An'  Tommy,  our  baby  Tommy,  we  buried  one  star 
lit  night 
Along   with   his   fallen   comrades   just   after  the 

Wilderness  fight. 
The  lightning  struck  our  family  tree,  and  stripped 

it  of  every  limb, 
A-leavin'  only  this  bare  old  trunk  a-standin'  alone 

and  grim. 
My  boy,  that's  why  your  grandma,  when  you  kneel 

to  the  God  you  love, 
Makes  you  ax  Him  to  watch  your  uncles  an'  make 

'em  happy  above. 

That's  why  you  sometimes  see  her  with  tear-drop 

in  her  eyes, 
That's  why  you  sometimes  catch  her  a  tryin'  to 

hide  her  sighs; 


56         GEMS    FROM   AN"   OLD    DEUMMER'S    GRIP. 

That's  why  at  our  great  reunions,  she  looks  so 
solemn  an'  sad; 

That's  why  her  heart  seems  a-breakin'  Avhen  the 
boys  are  jolly  and  glad;  . 

That's  why  you  sometimes  find  her  in  the  bed 
room  overhead, 

Down  on  her  knees  a-prayin',  with  their  pictures 
laid  out  on  the  bed; 

That's  why  the  old-time  brightness  will  light  up 
her  face  no  more, 

Till  she  meets  her  hero  warriors  in  the  camp  on 
the  other  shore. 


An'  when  the  great  war  was  over,  back  came  the 

veterans  true, 
With  not  one  star  a-missin'  from  the  azure  field 

of  blue; 
An'  the  boys,  who  on  the  field  o'  battle  had  stood 

the  fiery  test, 
Formed  Posts  o'  the  great  Grand  Army  in  the 

North,  South,  Bast,  and  the  West. 
Fraternity,  Charity,  Loyalty,  is  the  motto   'neath 

which  they  train — 
Their  object  to  care  for  the  helpless  an'  banish 

sorrow  an'  pain 
From  the  homes  of  the  widows  an'  orphans  o'  the 

boys  who  have  gone  before, 
To  answer  their  names  at  roll  call  in  the  great 

Grand  Army  Corps. 


GEMS   FEOM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S   GRIP.         57 

An'  that's  why  we  wear  these  badges,  the  eagle  an' 

the  flag  an'  star, 
"Worn  only  by  veteran  heroes  who  fought  in  that 

bloody  war, 
An'  that's  why  my  old  eyes  glisten  while  talkin' 

about  the  fray. 
An'  that's  why  I  call  men  "  Comrade "  when  I 

meet  'em  every  day; 
An'  that's  why  I  tell  your  grandma  "  I'm  going  to 

Post  to-night." 
For  there's  where  I  meet  the  old  boys  who  stood 

with  me  in  the  fight, 
An',  my  child,  that's  why  I've  taught  you  to  love 

and  revere  the  men 
Who  come  here  a  wearin'  badges,  to  fight  those 

battles  again. 

They  are  the  gallant  heroes  who  stood  'mid  shot 

and  shell. 
An'  followed  the  flying  colors  right  into  the  mouth 

o'  hell. 
They  are  the  men  whose  valor  saved  the  land  from 

disgrace  and  shame, 
An'  lifted  her  back  in  triumph  to  her  perch  on 

the  dome  o'  fame; 
An'  as  long  as  you  live,  my  darling,  till  your  pale 

lips  in  death  are  mute, 
When  you  see  that  badge  on  a  bosom  take  off  your 

hat  and  salute; 


58         GEMS   FROM   AX   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

An'  if  any  old  veteran  should  halt  you  an'  ques 
tion  you  why  you  do, 

Just  tell  him  you've  got  a  right  to,  for  your  gran'- 
dad's  a  Comrade,  too. 


SERGEANT  JOHN  CARTER  AND  SON. 

SHERMAH    D.    RICHARDSON. 

"TTTELL,  Billy,  our  march  is  nigh  ended; 
AVhen  we  reach  the  top  of  yon  hill 
"We  can  see  the  old  home  in  the  valley, 

Where  it  stands  beside  the  stone  mill. 
It  is  years  since  we  left  it,  my  Billy, 

To  march  with  the  comrades  of  blue, 
Shall  we  find  all  the  loved  ones  awaiting 

That  bade  us  that  morning  adieu  ? 

The  moon  shines  down  through  the  maples 

As  the  sun  shone  down  that  day, 
And  the  village  bell  rings  as  cheerily 

As  it  chimed  when  we  marched  away. 
You  then  were  a  stripling,  my  Billy, 

And  I  in  the  strength  of  my  prime; 
The  prison  pen  made  me  an  old  man, 

And  my  raven  locks  gray  ere  their  time. 


GEMS   FROM   AN"   OLD    DKUMMEE'S   GRIP.         59 

Three  years  since  from  home  we've  had  tidings, 

The  letter  came  to  us  that  day 
When  we  charged  by  the  bridge  at  Manassas 

And  they  captured  our  line  for  pay. 
Three  years  of  sad  lonely  watching 

In  the  hands  of  a  terrible  fate; 
But  in  the  old  home  in  the  valley 

'Twas  a  longer  time,  Billy,  to  wait. 

Ah !  here  is  the  churchyard,  Billy ; 

But  it  seems  to  have  larger  grown, 
And  see  in  our  own  lot  yonder, 

Eises  a  gleaming  white  stone. 
Can  it  be — let  me  lean  on  you — Billy, 

Alas!  that  our  coming  is  late. 
Shall  we  find  the  loved  ones  in  the  churchyard, 

That  we  left  at  the  old  garden  gate  ? 

Two  mounds  heave  the  sod  close  together — 

Alas!  death  spared  us  not  one — 
The  graves  of  the  mother  and  daughter 

Are  the  welcome  of  father  and  son. 
Let  me  kneel  on  -the  sod  here,  Billy, 

And  trace  out  the  message  of  grief, 
The  rose  and  the  lily  together 

Have  been  bound  in  the  reaper's  sheaf. 

This   is   sacred   to    the   memory   of — what's   the 

meaning, 
Sergeant  John  Carter  and  Son, 


60         GEMS   FROM   AST   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Who  were  killed  in  the  month  of  July, 

'61,  at  the  fight  of  Bull  Run. 
Good  Heavens,  why  that's  us,  Billy, 

Dead  and  buried  three  years  to-day, 
With  an  epitaph  fit  for  a  general, 

How  we  fell  in  the  heat  of  the  fray. 

Three  cheers  for  yon  light  in  the  valley 

And  the  friends  we  shall  meet  at  the  gate. 
Sister  and  mother,  daughter  and — Billy, 

Perhaps  my  coming  is  late. 
The  weeds  may  have  faded  to  garlands, 

And  sorrow  supplanted  by  love. 
You  go  alone,  boy,  to  the  valley, 

I'll  stay  in  the  churchyard  above. 

If  my  wife  awaits  in  the  cottage 

Come  back  ere  the  moon  goes  down, 
And  the  words  shall  be  changed  on  the  tablet 

And  flowers  crown  over  each  mound. 
If  not — then  good-by,  and  God  bless  you, 

Unchanged  let  the  tablet  remain, 
'Tis  best  I  shall  be  remembered 

As  I  marched  that  day  down  the  lane. 
****** 

The  monument  stands  for  the  heroes 

Who  rest  unknown  far  from  home. 
But  the  tablet  is  changed,  a  message  came  to  him 

Ere  the  moon  left  the  star-spangled  dome. 


GEMS   FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         61 

For  the  love  of  woman  is  true  and  forever 

And  the  love  of  man  is  strong  in  its  might. 
Sunshine  and  shadow,  gladness  and  sorrow, 
Gleaming    tints    from   the   past   to-day   and   to 
morrow 
Weave  ever  a  rainbow  of  light. 


OUK  FOLKS. 

[NOTE. — The  following  beautiful  and  touching  lines  were  taken 
from  the  knapsack  of  a  Union  soldier,  who  was  found  dead,  upon  the 
battle-field  of  Hatcher's  Run,  Va.,  in  Nov.,  1864.  The  original  manu 
script,  torn  and  defaced,  was  presented  to  Major  Barton  by  Colonel 
Edward  Hill,  of  the  Sixteenth  Michigan  Infantry.  The  author  is  un 
known.] 

TTI!  Harry!  Hallie!  Halt,  and  tell 
•-' — *-     A  soldier  just  a  thing  or  two; 
You've  had  a  furlough !  been  to  see 

How  all  the  folks  in  Jersey  do ; — 
It's  a  year  agone  since  I  was  there, 

I,  and  the  bullet  from  Fair  Oaks. 
Since  you've  been  home,  old  comrade,  true, 

Say,  did  you  see  any  of  "  our  folks  ?  " 
You  did  ?     Shake  hands !     Oh,  ain't  I  glad ! 

For  if  I  do  look  grim  and  rough, 
I've  got  some  feeling.     People  think 

A  soldier's  heart  is  mighty  tough! 
But,  Harry,  when  the  bullets  fly, 


62         GEMS    FROM   AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

And  hot  saltpetre  flames  and  smokes, 
And  whole  battalions  lie  a-field, 

One's  apt  to  think  about  his  folks. 
And  so  you  saw  them !  When  and  where  ? 
The  old  man !  Is  he  lively  yet? 

And  mother — does  she  fade  at  all, 
Or  does  she  seem  to  pine  and  fret  for  me  ? 

And  little  "  sis,"  has  she  grown  tall  ? 
And  then,  you  know,  her  friend,  that 

Annie  Ross — How  this  pipe  chokes: — 
Come,  Hal,  and  tell  me,  like  a  man, 

All  the  news  about  our  folks. 
You  saw  them  at  the  church,  you  say; 

It's  likely;  for  they're  always  there 
On  Sunday.     What!  No!  A  funeral! 

Who  ?    Why,  Harry,  how  you  halt  and  stare ! 
And  all  were  well,  and  all  were  out  ? 

Come,  surely,  this  can't  be  a  hoax ! 
Why  don't  you  tell  me,  like  a  man, 

What  is  the  matter  with  our  folks  ?  " 


"  I  said  all  well,  old  comrade  dear; 

I  say  all  well !  for  He  knows  best, 
Who  takes  His  young  lambs  in  His  arms 

Before  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west. 
The  soldier's  stroke  deals  left  and  right, 

But  flowers  fall  as  well  as  oaks — 
And  so,  fair  Annie  blooms  no  more : 

And  that's  the  matter  with  '  your  folks.' 


GEMS   FROM   AK   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         63 

Here's  this  long  curl,  'twas  sent  to  you, 

And  this  fair  blossom,  from  her  breast, 
And  here — your  sister  Bessie  wrote 

This  letter  telling  all  the  rest." 
Bear  up,  old  friend,  nobody  speaks 

Only  the  dull  camp  raven  croaks 
And  soldiers  whisper,  "  Boys,  be  still ! 

There's  some  bad  news  from  Granger's  folks !  " 
He  turned  his  back  upon  his  grief 
And  sadly  tried  to  hide  the  tears 
Kind  nature  sends  to  woe's  relief. 
Then  answered,  "Ah,  well!  Hal,  I'll  try; 

But  in  my  throat  there's  something  chokes 
Because,  you  see,  I'd  thought  so  long 

To  count  her  in  among  our  folks. 
All  may  be  well;  but  yet, 

I  can't  help  thinking,  too, 
I  might  have  kept  this  trouble  off 

By  being  gentle,  kind  and  true ! 
But  maybe  not.     She's  safe  up  there; 

And  when  His  hand  deals  other  strokes 
She'll  stand  at  Heaven's  gate,  I  know, 

To  wait  and  welcome  '  our  folks.' 


64         GEMS   FROM   AH   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

BANTY   TIM. 

JOHN    HAY. 

[Remarks  of  Sergeant  Tilmon  Joy  to  the  white  man's  committee  of 
Spunky  Point,  Illinois.] 

T  EECKON  I  git  your  drift,  gents— 

You  'low  the  boy  shan't  stay; 
This  is  a  white  man's  country; 

You're  Dimocrats,  you  say; 
And  whereas,  and  seein',  and  wherefore, 

The  times  bein'  all  out  o'  j'int, 
The  nigger  has  got  to  mosey 

From  the  limits  o'  Spunky  P'int! 

Le's  reason  the  thing  a  minute; 

I'm  an  old-fashioned  Dimocrat  too, 
Though  I  laid  my  politics  out  o'  the  way 

For  to  keep  till  the  war  was  through. 
But  I  come  back  here,  allowin' 

To  vote  as  I  used  to  do, 
Though  it  gravels  me  like  the  devil  to  train 

Along  o'  sich  fools  as  you. 

Now  dog  my  cats  ef  I  kin  see, 

In  all  the  light  of  the  day, 
What  you've  got  to  do  with  the  question 

Ef  Tim  shall  go  or  stay. 


GEMS  FROM  AN"  OLD  DRUMMER'S  GRIP.    65 

And  furder  than  that  I  give  notice, 

Ef  one  of  you  tetches  the  boy, 
He  kin  check  his  trunks  to  a  warmer  clime 

Than  he'll  find  in  Illanoy. 

Why,  blame  your  hearts,  jest  hear  me ! 

You  know  that  ungodly  day 

When  our  left   struck  Vicksburg  Heights,  how 
ripped 

And  torn  and  tattered  we  lay. 
When  the  rest  retreated  I  staid  behind, 

Fur  reasons  sufficient  to  me — 
With  a  rib  caved  in,  and  a  leg  on  a  strike, 

I  sprawled  on  that  cursed  glacee. 

Lord !  how  the  hot  sun  went  for  us, 

And  br'iled  and  blistered  and  burned; 
How  the  rebel  bullets  whizzed  round  us 

When  a  cuss  in  his  death-grip  turned! 
Till  along  toward  dusk  I  seen  a  thing 

I  couldn't  believe  for  a  spell : 
That  nigger — that  Tim — was  a-crawlin'  to  me 

Through  that  fire-proof,  gilt-edged  hell! 

The  rebels  seen  him  as  quick  as  me, 

And  the  bullets  buzzed  like  bees; 
But  he  jumped  for  me,  and  shouldered  me, 

Though  a  shot  brought  him  once  to  his  knees; 


66         GEMS   FROM   AN    OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

But  he  staggered  up,  and  packed  me  off, 
With  a  dozen  stumbles  and  falls, 

Till  safe  in  our  lines  he  drapped  us  both, 
His  black  hide  riddled  with  balls. 

So,  my  gentle  gazelles,  thar's  my  answer, 

And  here  stays  Banty  Tim: 
He  trumped  Death's  ace  for  me  that  day, 

And  I'm  not  goin'  back  on  him! 
You  may  rezoloot  till  the  cows  come  home, 

But  ef  one  of  you  tetches  the  boy, 
He'll  wrastle  his  hash  to-night  in  hell, 

Or  my  name's  not  Tilmon  Joy! 


THE   OLD   TOOLS   IN  A  FEAME. 

(From  the  Groton  and  Lansing  Journal.) 

[N.  R.  Streeter,  the  "Jolly  Old  Drummer,"  was  formerly  a  shoe 
maker.  He  worked  at  the  business  about  twenty  years,  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  he  filled  a  position  known  as  a  custom  foreman  (a 
trade  which  has  become  obsolete).  Mr.  Streeter  has  always  kept  his 
old  pinchers  and  hammer,  also  His  size  stick.  He  recently  sent  them 
to  New  York  and  had  them  gilded  with  22  karat  gold,  and  set  upon 
a  blue  silk  plush  back  in  a  gilded  frame,  and  he  wrote  the  following 
lines  and  glued  them  to  the  back  of  the  frame.] 

'FT ERE  are  all  that  remains  of  my  faithful  old 

kit, 

For  long  years  ago  shoemaking  I  quit. 
My  sticks  are  all  gone,  either  misplaced  or  lost, 
Like  a  hand-full  of  pegs  in  a  hurricane  tossed. 


GEMS    FROM  AN"   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         67 

This  trio,  I've  kept,  refusing  to  lend. 

(Though  I  seldom  was  known  to  go  back  on  a 

friend.) 

A  place  in  my  parlor  they  now  shall  enjoy, 
And  when  I  am  gone,  they'll  belong  to  my  boy. 
As  I  gaze  on  these  faithful  old  relics  and  think, 
An  apprentice  again,  I  stand  on  the  brink 
Of  life's  speeding  river,  a  "  cub  "  once  again, 
Hear  the  tap  of  the  hammers,  the  jokes  of  the 

men. 
But  alas  !     In  the  factories  the  shoes   now   are 

made, 

And  few  there  remain  of  an  obsolete  trade. 
The  men  in  the  factories  all  work  in  teams, 
And  few  even  know  what  the  fuddle  stick  means. 
To  the  gray-headed  craftsmen,  this  seems  very 

queer 
(As  they  think  of  the  times  when  they  fuddled 

for  beer). 
But,  though  babies  were  born  with  shoes  on  their 

feet, 

We  old  Crispins  will  never  get  round  on  the  seat. 
And  though  fortune  smiles  and  luck  with  me 

lingers, 
I'll  despise  not  the   days,  when  I'd  wax  on  my 

fingers. 
And  whene'er  an  old  "  shoey "  I  meet  on  time's 

shore, 
I'll  greet  him  as  shopmate,  the  same  as  of  yore. 


68         GEMS   FEOM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

THE   OLD   MAN  AND  JIM. 

BY   JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEY. 

/~\LD  Man  never  had  much  to  say, 

>-'     'Ceptin  to  Jim — 

And  Jim  was  the  wildest  boy  he  had — 

And  the  Old  Man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him ! 
Never  heerd  him  speak  but  once 
Er  twice  in  my  life — and  first  time  was 
When  the  war  broke  out,  and  Jim  he  went, 
The  Old  Man  backin'  him  fer  three  months, 
And  all  'at  I  heerd  the  Old  Man  say 
Was,  jes'  as  we  turned  to  start  away — 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Jim ; 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f  ?  " 

'Feared  like  he  was  more  satisfied 

Jes'  lookin'  at  Jim, 
And  likin'  him  all  to  hisself-like,  see  ? 

'Cause  he  was  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! 
And  over  and  over  I  mind  the  day 
The  Old  Man  come  and  stood  round  in  the  way 
While  we  was  drilling',  a-watchin'  Jim — 
And  down  at  the  deepot  a-heerin'  him  say — 

"Well,  good-bye,  Jim; 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 


GEMS    FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP.         69 

Never  was  nothin'  about  the  farm 

Disting'ished  Jim; 
Neighbors  all  ust  to  wonder  why 

The  Old  Man  'peared  wrapped  up  in  him ! 
But  when  Cap.  Biggler,  he  writ  back 
'At  Jim  was  the  bravest  boy  he  had 
In  the  whole  dern  regiment,  white  er  black, 
And  his  fightin'  good  as  his  farmin'  bad — 
'At  he  had  led,  with  a  bullet  clean 
Bored  through  his  thigh,  and  carried  the  flag 
Through  the  bloodiest  battle  you  ever  seen, 
The  Old  Man  wound  up  a  letter  to  him 
'At  Cap  read  to  us,  'at  said, — 
"  Tell  Jim  Good-bye; 

And  take  keer  of  hisse'f." 

Jim  come  back  jes'  long  enough 

To  take  the  whim 
'At  he'd  like  to  go  back  in  calvery — 

And  the  Old  Man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him ! — 
Jim  'lowed  'at  he'd  had  sich  luck  afore, 
Guessed  he'd  tackle  her  three  years  more 
And  the  Old  Man  gave  him  a  colt  he'd  raised 
And  followed  him  over  to  Camp  Ben  Wade, 
And  laid  around  for  a  week  or  so, 
Watchin'  Jim  on  dress  parade — 
Tell  finally  he  rid  way, 
And  last  he  heard  was  the  Old  Man  say, 
"Well,  good-by,  Jim; 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 


70         GEMS    FROM   AN   OLD    DRUMMER'S    GRIP. 

Tuk  the  papers,  the  Old  Man  did, 

A-watchin'  for  Jim — 
Fully  believin'  he'd  make  his  mark 

Some  way — jes'  wrapped  up  in  him ! 
And  many  a  time  the  word  'ud  come 
'At  stirred  him  up  like  the  tap  of  a  drum — 
At  Petersburg,  for  instance,  where 
Jim  rid  right  into  their  cannons  there, 
And  tuk  'em,  and  p'inted  'em  t'other  way 
And  socked  it  home  to  the  boys  in  gray, 
As  they  skooted  fer  timber,  and  on  and  on 
Jim  a  lieutenant  and  one  arm  gone, 
And  the  Old  Man's  words  in  his  mind  all  day!" 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Jim  ; 

Take  care  of  yourse'f !" 

Think  of  a  private,  now,  perhaps, 

We'll  say  like  Jim, 
'At's  dumb  clean  up  to  the  shoulder  straps — 

And  the  Old  Man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him ! 
Think  of  him — with  the  war  plum'  through, 
And  the  glorious  old  Ked-White-and-Blue 
A  laughin'  the  news  down  over  Jim 
And  the  Old  Man,  bendin'  over  him — 
The  surgeon  turnin'  away  with  tears 
'At  hadn't  leaked  fer  years  and  years — 
As  the  hand  of  the  dying  boy  clung  to 
His  father's,  the  old  voice  in  his  ears! 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Jim : 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f! " 


GEMS   FKOM   AN   OLD    DHUMMEfi'S    GKIP.         71 


PADDY'S   EXCELSIOK. 

?rpWAS  growing  dark  so  terrible  fasht, 
•*•     Whin  through   a  town  up   the   mountain 

there  pashed 

A  broth  of  a  boy,  to  his  neck  in  the  shnow; 
As  he  walked,  his  shillelah  he  swung  to  and  fro, 
Saying :  "  It's  up  to  the  top  I'm  bound  for  to  go, 
Be  jabbers!" 

He  looked  mortal  sad,  and  his  eye  was  as  bright 
As  a  fire  of  turf  on  a  cowld  winther  night; 
And  niver  a  word  that  he  said  could  ye  tell 
As  he  opened  his  mouth  and  let  out  a  yell, 
"  It's  up  till  the  top  of  the  mountain  I'll  go, 
Onless  covered  up  wid  this  bodthersome  shnow, 
Be  jabbers!" 

Trough  the   windows  he   saw,   as   he    thraveled 

along, 

The  light  of  the  candles,  and  fires  so  warm, 
But  a  big  chunk  of  ice  hung  over  his  head; 
Wid  a  shnivel  and  groan,  "By  St.  Patrik!"  he 

said, 

"  It's  up  to  the  very  tip-top  I  will  rush, 
And  then  if  it  falls,  it's  not  meself  it  '11  crush, 
Be  jabbers!" 


72         GEMS   FROM   AN    OLD    DKUMMER'S   GRIP. 

"  Whisht  a  bit,"  said  an  owld  man,  whose  head 

was  as  white 
As  the  shnow  that  fell  down  on  that  miserable 

night; 

"  Shure,  ye'll  fall  in  the  wather,  me  bit  of  a  lad, 
Fur  the  night  is  so  dark  and  the  walkin'  is  bad." 
Bedad !  he'd  not  lisht  to  a  word  that  was  said 
But  he'd  go  till  the  top,  if  he  went  on  his  head, 
Be  jabbers ! 

A  bright,  buxom  young  girl,  such  as  likes  to  be 

kissed, 
Axed  him  wouldn't  he  stop,  and  how  could  he 

resist  ? 

So,  shnapping  his  fingers  and  winking  his  eye, 
While  shmiling  upon  her,  he  made  this  reply — 
"  Faith,  I  meant  to  kape  on  till  I  got  to  the  top, 
But,  as  yer  shwate  self  has  axed  me,  I  may  as  well 

shtop 

Be  jabbers!" 

He  shtopped  all  night  and  he  shtopped  all  day, — 
And  ye  musn't  be  axing  whin  he  did  go  away ; 
Fur  wouldn't  he  be  a  bastely  gossoon 
To  be  laving  his  darlint  in  the  swate  honey-moon  ? 
Whin  the  owld  man  has  peraties  enough,  and  to 

spare, 
Shure  he  moight  as  well  shtay  if  he's  comfortable 

there, 

Be  jabbers ! 


•;:;.  *k'  r%ixv  «AJ  *  ,    .„" 

•      -•& 


/* .' 


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405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


UR 


RtC'O  LO-URL 
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